


Hymne a l'Amour

by Heavy Henry (pelicanna)



Series: Heartbeat [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Food Porn, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, Smut, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, anxiety brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelicanna/pseuds/Heavy%20Henry
Summary: Victor and Yuri spend New Year's Eve together.  They are getting better at talking about their feelings.“I’m working on it, okay?”  Yuri snapped, sitting up and glaring at Victor. “I’m sorry I can’t be all peace and love and loving words right now.  I’m doing the best I can!”“That’s not -” Victor stopped himself and took a deep breath.  Great.  Victor invited him over for a nice evening, and what did Yuri do?  Start a fight.A+, great job, Yuri.“I’m not saying this right.  I don’t want to pressure you about this, but it...hurts...when I hear you saying these things about yourself.”  Victor looked carefully away from Yuri then, twining his fingers together.  “I don’t want to hear you saying cruel things about the man I love.”Yuri was surprised that the record scratch in his brain wasn’t audible to the entire neighborhood.  “Wait. What?”Victor grimaced.  “That’s not quite how I intended to say that.”Yuri reached out, grabbing Victor’s hands.  He seemed to be having trouble meeting Yuri’s eyes.  “You love me?”





	Hymne a l'Amour

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing my New Orleans AU. You can probably figure this out, but this version of Victor and Yuri might make more sense if you've read _Dream of Autumn._ But if you just want some holiday smut, then proceed with my blessing.
> 
> Continuing PSA: In this AU, I spell Yuri K with one "U" because that's how he does it in canon. In this AU, Yuri P is pretty consistently Yurio. 
> 
> So, I just wanted to write some fluff for the holidays. I'll get back to Mila and Sara and the Highlander AU in the New Year.
> 
> Happy New Year!!
> 
> update: This was originally intended to be a two-parter, but i couldn't get it to flow right, so i guess it's a one-shot after all.
> 
> ______________________

“What do you like to do for New Year’s Eve?”

“Um, I don’t really know. For the last, I don’t know, five years? I did a Beethoven’s Ninth performance with the ballet. It’s a thing in Japan. After, there’s always a donor’s party or something. I usually make awkward small talk, then hide in a corner and drink too much champagne.”

“Oh.”

~~ 

 

Yuri replayed that conversation over and over as he tried but failed to sleep on the night of December 30th. He should have said something different. Something that made him sound like a fun person and not a pathetic person. It had been the day after Christmas, and Yuri had slept over, lounging in bed with Victor, sore and satisfied, after a birthday sex marathon. Victor was holding Yuri’s hand up to the light, not doing anything in particular, just looking, Yuri assumed, at the light on their skin, occasionally running his thumb over the creased skin of Yuri’s knuckles or over the hard smoothness of his nails. _Ugh, I’m so dehydrated,_ Yuri thought, noticing how pruney his fingertips were. It was a small thing, but he had to fight the urge to jerk his hands away self-consciously. Instead, he just let Victor look. It was hard to get used to the strange intimacy of just _being_ with someone else.

Victor finally looked up at Yuri’s face. He smiled gently, and set Yuri’s hand back down on his chest. That was when he had asked his question. It wasn’t a high pressure situation, and Yuri was trying - he really was - not to catastrophize everything, not to spin out wild scenarios of how everyone, Victor especially, was secretly bored/frustrated/disgusted by him. He had done well, he had shoved the feeling aside, and when Victor had responded by kissing his knuckles and inviting him to spend a “traditional” New Year’s Eve and Day with him, Yuri had agreed.

For the last week, though, Yuri had been low-level distraught about the whole plan. Phichit was gone - home to Thailand for the winter break - and Yuri was left with no distractions other than the occasional overheard snippets of conversation from the constant stream of dinner parties going on upstairs. He kept his blinds drawn, especially after he heard Christophe’s deep drawl as he and Massimo dropped off holiday cookies for Rosie. 

The holiday rush of Nutcracker performances was over, but that didn’t stop Yuri from spending way too much time in the studio, staying up till all hours of the night, then sleeping until noon. It was going to be hellish when he had to reclaim some semblance of a diurnal existence. He and Victor texted throughout the week, just short conversations, but Victor had never elaborated on his New Year plans, and Yuri desperately wanted to ask, but more than that, he wanted to trust that Victor wouldn’t put him in an uncomfortable position. He also wanted to trust himself to handle a couple of hours of discomfort.

 

 

Victor!  
  
Hello!  
  
Are we still on for 2nite?  
  
I can’t wait to see you  
  
Four days is too long. :((((  
  


Those texts greeted him on the morning of New Year’s Eve. Well, technically, the afternoon. After failing to sleep, Yuri had walked to Dean Cialdi’s studio and let himself in. The moon was a waning crescent peeking over the tops of the oaks and it was clear enough to see a few stars through the windows of the studio. He had danced until his calf muscles quivered and he couldn’t do math. When he got home at five, he fell asleep on the couch in his sweaty clothes and didn’t wake until he got Victor’s texts.

He stewed over his response while he munched his way through a bowl of Grape Nuts and coconut yogurt. A large and vocal part of him wanted to just say, _Of course! See you at 6! <3 <3! Nothing is wrong!_ He and Victor were working toward something like actual honesty and intimacy, though. 

Victor!  
  
Yeah, definitely  
  
but.  
  
I know you wanted to surprise me, but I’m actually kind of freaking out  
  
Can you give me a hint?  
  


Yuri’s heart pounded as he waited for a response. He imagined Victor staring at his phone and finally deciding that Yuri’s bullshit was too much effort and sighing mightily while composing the perfect, crushing but polite breakup text, or maybe throwing his phone at the wall, or, worst, just calmly blocking his number.

Victor!  
  
Thank you for telling me  
  
Let me think  
  
It will involve food, dogs and snuggling  
  
It will not involve crowds or alcohol  
  
Does that help?  
  
I can tell you more. I’d rather spoil the surprise than make you worry  
  


Relief floods through Yuri’s body, relaxing shoulders he hadn’t realized were hunched and loosening the muscles of his jaw. Guilt follows immediately after. Did he make Victor change his plans? Why couldn’t he trust Victor?

Victor!  
  
That’s good. Thank you  
  
....  
  
Sorry  
  
Why are you sorry?  
  
Nothing. Never mind  
  
Can we talk about this tonight? I feel like we should probably talk about this  
  
Okay  
  
What should I wear?  
  
Is nothing an option? I’ll turn the heat up  
  
Ha. Ha.  
  
Something comfy for lounging, and something comfy for walking tomorrow.  
  
Do you want me to pick you up?  
  
No thanks. It’s a nice day for a ride  
  
Okay. See you at six?  
  
<3  
  


 

 

Yuri was right: it was a nice day for a bike ride, and a little fresh air helped him to feel more normal. Maybe he could move his workouts to the mornings. Maybe this would be the year that he magically became a morning person. He was enjoying a very nice fantasy of getting up before the sun for a run, then cooking himself an Instagram worthy breakfast every morning. Then the driver of a brand new Porsche Cayenne decided to get out without checking the mirror. Yuri had to swerve to avoid getting doored. 

Yuri arrived safely, despite the best efforts of luxury car drivers. Victor had left the gate unlocked, and Yuri stashed his bike, taking a moment to clean his glasses and run his fingers through his hair. Despite Victor’s jokes, Yuri had dressed up a bit more than normal, in a pair of dark grey slacks and a soft black sweater with a hint of drape to the knit. It felt soft and decadent against his skin, and Yuri hoped that Victor appreciated the effort. He had even put on chapstick in honor of the occasion.

Yuri paused on the “porch,” really just a postage stamp-sized piece of concrete that was covered with culinary herbs and succulents during the summer. During the winter, though, the plants all migrated to shelves in the bathroom and kitchen, leaving behind only a couple of pots of rosemary and a couple of bromeliads. Yuri was incredibly proud that he had learned to identify even that much. Victor had left the front door open, with just the wrought iron security door secured. Makkachin came running up as soon as she noticed Yuri, barking and dancing from foot to foot.

“Makka! No! Chill!” Victor came running up from the kitchen. He was sock-footed, and skidded a little as he hauled the dog away from the door. “I’m so sorry. I think she likes you better than me. She’s just excited.” He had to hold her by the collar while Yuri set down his backpack and slipped off his shoes. “Okay, girl. You can say hi, now.” 

Yuri squatted and held out his hand. Makkachin, still wiggling uncontrollably, sniffed at his hand, licked it once, looked up at Victor and then returned to her doggy bed and flopped down. “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Yuri commented, as he stood.

“Mmhm,” Victor hummed, stepping close to Yuri. “You look nice.”

“Thank you. So do you,” Yuri replied modestly. Victor was wearing grey flannel pants and a t-shirt underneath a stained apron that read “Roastface Grillah.” His hair was mussed and he had a smear of something pink along his jawline. All of that only accentuated the prominent line of his nose and the pale fringe of his eyelashes and the bright blue of his gaze that somehow managed to warm Yuri to his toes every time their eyes met.

Victor chuckled. “You’re kind, but you’re lying. I meant to shower before you got here, but I had a herring-related emergency.”

“Oh dear. Do you need help?”

“No. Everything is under control now.”

“I meant help with the shower. You know that I’m useless in the kitchen.”

“Yuri…” A faint line appeared between Victor’s eyebrows. Yuri recognized this as his serious face.

“Come on,” Yuri moved closer and hooked his index fingers into Victor’s stretchy waistband, pulling him close enough to kiss. Victor yielded with a soft sigh. His mouth was hot and wet after the cool air outside, and Yuri tipped his head back, letting him trail warmth along his jaw and down his neck. After a moment that was all too short, Victor paused and stepped back with a shaky breath.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He turned and led the way back toward the kitchen. “I have approximately six varieties of La Croix, and tonic, and ginger ale, and some iced chrysanthemum, and some iced mate if you don’t mind the caffeine -” 

Yuri’s right eyebrow lifted of its own accord.

Victor stopped. “I am realizing that I may have gone overboard. I also have sparkling grape juice, but that’s for later.”

“Um, the mate sounds good.” He took a seat at one of the barstools and looked around at the kitchen. Other than a savory poultry smell and a gently steaming covered pot, everything had been cleaned up and put away. Victor passed over a mason jar and Yuri sipped gratefully. “So, is it responsible adult relationship time?”

“Yes, please.” Victor said with a relieved smile. “Then, you can definitely help me clean up.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a little bit of -” Yuri gestured at his own cheekbone. Victor’s hand flew to his face with a gasp. Yuri snickered. “It’s something pink. Are we having beets?”

Victor waved his finger admonishingly. “Let me keep a little bit of a surprise.” He poured himself a glass of water and nodded toward the couch. “We can be comfortable and responsible at the same time.”

“Okay,” Yuri started, as he settled in to the battered leather cushions. “I can start. First, I’m really sorry for being so weird. I’m sure you wanted to do something more exciting for New Year’s. You shouldn’t have to adjust your plans around my brain gremlins. I can be uncomfortable for a few hours.”

“Yuri -”

“-And I know, you wouldn’t want me to be uncomfortable. I should have trusted you not to put me in that position. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid. I’m really sorry, Vitya” The words tumbled out in a rush, while Yuri stared at the drink in his hands, pretending to be fascinated by the way the light shone on the ice cubes. He ran out of words all of a sudden and snuck a look at Victor.

The worried look hadn’t entirely faded. “Okay. That’s...okay.” Victor laid his hand lightly across Yuri’s shoulders, pulling him close. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You don’t have to apologize for having opinions. I was _so_ happy when you told me how you were feeling.” Yuri looked up, but he couldn’t find anything other than absolute sincerity in his face.

“Yeah?”

“Well, yeah. It means you’re letting me in. Yuri, I want to know how you feel about things. I want to know everything about you.” He squeezed Yuri’s shoulders then. “I’m sorry, too. I should have just told you more about what I wanted to do tonight, so that you could say no if you weren’t up for it.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be so fucking fragile.”

“Yuri -”

“What?” Yuri bristled a little at the scolding tone in Victor’s voice.

“I don’t know how to say this, and maybe it’s not my place, but I wish you weren’t so hard on yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yuri -”

“I’m working on it, okay?” Yuri snapped, sitting up and glaring at Victor. “I’m sorry I can’t be all peace and love and loving words right now. I’m doing the best I can!”

“That’s not -” Victor stopped himself and took a deep breath. Great. Victor invited him over for a nice evening, and what did Yuri do? Start a fight. _A+, great job, Yuri._ “I’m not saying this right. I don’t want to pressure you about this, but it...hurts...when I hear you saying these things about yourself.” Victor looked carefully away from Yuri then, twining his fingers together. “I don’t want to hear you saying cruel things about the man I love.”

Yuri was surprised that the record scratch in his brain wasn’t audible to the entire neighborhood. “Wait. What?”

Victor grimaced. “That’s not quite how I intended to say that.”

Yuri reached out, grabbing Victor’s hands. He seemed to be having trouble meeting Yuri’s eyes. “You love me?”

“I know. It’s too soon to say it. I didn’t mean -”

“You didn’t mean it?”

“No. I meant it.” He squeezed Yuri’s hands. “I love you, Yuri.” His tentative smile slid away as he looked down. “I understand if you don’t feel the same -”

Yuri pulled his right hand free and reached out, gently lifting Victor’s chin, caressing the streak of beet juice with his thumb. “You’ve been trying to tell me for a long time, haven’t you?” Victor leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and nodded once. “I should have heard you before. I’m sorry, Vitya.” Yuri leaned forward, not sure whether he imagined the tremor in Victor’s breathing or not. He stopped, his lips close enough to brush against Victor’s when he spoke. “I love you, Vitya.”

Victor surged forward then, kissing away Yuri’s gasp. Yuri clung to him, his fingers tangled in the fine hair at the back of Victor’s scalp. “I love you, I love you, I love -” Victor kept repeating it, pressing the words into Yuri’s lips, his cheeks, his eyelids with every kiss, whispering them in his ear before sucking at Yuri’s earlobe until he quivered and moaned. He didn’t stop as he bit a kiss into the curve of Yuri’s neck, and lifting the hem of Yuri’s shirt, to kiss more words onto the ticklish skin over his ribs, over his heart.

Yuri let himself be pressed back into the couch, hands in Victor’s hair, on his shoulders, letting the words wrap around him, as warm as Victor’s mouth on his body. He lifted his hips when Victor unbuttoned his pants, and kicked them to the floor with a laugh while Victor wrestled off his apron. Victor only stopped repeating the words “I love you,” when he took Yuri in his mouth. Yuri could still hear the words, wrapping around his brain like an echo. 

Then Victor did _something_ with his tongue, and the sound paused, stuttering into a long sigh, as Yuri realized that he had been hearing himself chanting “I love you,” on every breath. Victor lifted one of Yuri’s legs to his shoulder, caressing his ass, kneading the muscle, then moving forward, drawing a fingertip tauntingly along his perineum as Victor moved to cup his balls. Yuri pushed himself up on his elbows to watch. The sight of his cock disappearing between Victor’s lips was almost enough to push him over the edge. 

Victor looked up, releasing Yuri’s cock with an obscene “pop,” and made sure Yuri was watching him. He deliberately lifted his right hand and licked along the edge of his index finger, gently sucking just the tip into his mouth. Yuri couldn’t look anywhere else as Victor continued to tease him, letting his lips close over the tips of his fingers. Yuri made a noise that could only be described as a whine. Victor quirked an eyebrow at him as he plunged his fingers into his mouth once more, then held them up, a clear question on his face. _Oh God, yes._ Yuri nodded, and Victor smirked, taking Yuri into his mouth again. 

Even though he knew it was coming, he couldn’t help bucking his lips upward when he felt Victor’s finger against his asshole. Victor pulled back, choking slightly. “S-sorry,” Yuuri stammered, as Victor used his free hand to hold Yuri’s hips down while he gently pressed one finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, watching Yuri’s face. When Yuri nodded, he added his middle finger, and when Yuri, lost in the sensation, let his head fall back against the cushions, he started to suck again. Yuri’s grip in his hair tightened and he couldn’t do anything but chase more of the feeling of Victor’s mouth, Victor’s hands. His body wanted to thrust up into the hot mouth on his cock, or grind down on the fingers in his ass, he couldn’t decide. 

He knew he was pulling Victor’s hair, trying to force his cock further into his mouth. He had just started to worry that he was being too rough, when he heard, _felt_ a ragged moan from Victor and noticed him shifting rhythmically where he knelt in front of Yuri on the couch. “Touch - touch yourself, Vitya,” he managed to gasp out. The hand on his hip disappeared then, and Victor froze, resting his cheek against Yuri’s cock as he let out a shuddering exhale. Then his mouth was back on Yuri, and Yuri was thrusting into his mouth and against his hand in a chaotic rhythm. He was so close, almost there. He wanted to come, needed it like air, he just needed, needed this to last, needed the feeling to go on forever. It was too much and not enough all at once. Victor crooked his fingers inside of Yuri and his world exploded in sweet red sparks behind his eyelids and hot pulses of pleasure in his groin as he emptied himself into Victor’s greedy mouth. 

Victor rested his head against Yuri’s thigh as he gently withdrew his fingers. Yuri shifted, sitting up, and Victor lifted his head, watching Yuri with shining eyes. His lips were wet and swollen and there was a bright flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The tips of his ears were pink. His hand was still on his cock, but as he saw Yuri watching he moved to release it as if he were embarrassed. “No,” Yuri slid down to sit beside him on the floor, “Don’t stop.” Victor looked uncertain. Yuri slid his arms around him and pulled him close, Victor’s back against Yuri’s chest. He nosed at Victor’s neck, at the hollow where earlobe met jaw. Victor shivered in his arms and turned toward him. 

Yuri kissed his cheek, “let me see how you touch yourself, Vitya.” WIth a shuddering breath, Victor took himself in hand again, his head falling back to rest against Yuri’s shoulder. “Do you do this when you think of me?” 

“Y-yes.”

Yuri wanted to know more. “What do you think about?”

It took a long time for Victor to answer, and Yuri thought that he must have been trying very hard to control himself. He watched as Victor swiped his thumb across the head of his cock, smearing the moisture across the reddened skin. “I think about you fucking me.”

“You like that, don’t you?”

Victor nodded, closing his eyes for a second. When he spoke again his voice was very soft. Yuri had to lean even closer to hear him. “I like it when you do this.”

“Do what?”

“When you - ah - tell me what to do. Make me yours.”

Yuri was only a little bit surprised to realise that that was also what he wanted. He wanted it ferociously, to have Victor, every way he could, for as long as he could. “You are mine, aren’t you, my Vitya.” He tangled his fingers into Victor’s sweat damp hair possessively, and yanked his head back, clutching Victor’s chest with his other arm. 

Victor gasped, “I - yes. Yes.” His strokes were becoming more erratic, and the muscles of his back tensed against as he arched against Yuri’s grasp. “Oh god, I’m - I’m -”

“Let me see, Vitya,” Yuri whispered in his ear, looking down at Victor’s body. Every muscle was tense, defined beneath his pale skin, the head of his cock a shocking red as Victor pumped his hand up and down its thick length. “You’re so beautiful.” Victor whimpered and tried to turn his head toward Yuri’s face but he used the hand in Victor’s hair to direct his gaze. “No, watch yourself. I want you to see how beautiful you are.” With a gasp, his hips rose and Yuri watched, fascinated as Victor finished, white streaming over the fist that was still furiously pumping, chasing the echoes of pleasure, and pooling in the curly ash-colored hair, smearing across Victor’s belly.

Victor was gasping deep shuddering breaths and Yuri gathered him into his arms, unheeding of the mess they had made or how ridiculous they looked, Victor with pajama pants bunched around his thighs, and Yuri, Donald Duck fabulous, in nothing but a sweater and socks. 

“I’m yours, too. You know that, right?” Yuri pressed a kiss into the part of Victor’s hair. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.” Victor sat up with a sigh, stretching his neck. “That was -”

“I know, I’m sorry. Was that too -”

“You could let me finish before you start apologizing.”

“You’re right, I’m sor - Oh. I’m doing it again.”

Victor kissed the tip of his nose. “I was going to say that I really liked that.”

Yuri felt his cheeks heat. “I didn’t even touch you.”

“I know. It was still special.”

“Was it okay? You’ll tell me if I go too far, right? Or if I tell you to do something and -”

“It was amazing.” Victor grimaced, looking down at Yuri’s sweater. “I think I’ll have to wash that for you.” He stood and held out a hand. Yuri took it and stood, only swaying a little. Victor hitched up his pants. “I think we’ll need to have another ‘adult relationship talk’ about this, but for now, can you try to believe me when I tell you that I loved that, and I love you, and we’ll figure it out? At least while we take a shower?”

“Okay, yeah. I can do that.”

~~ 

 

Clean and warm, they sat down to the sort of dinner that Yuri had begun to think of as a _Nikiforov Production_. Victor was as enthusiastic about cookery as he was about everything he loved. Yuri had come to realise that Victor didn’t like to do things half-way. This yielded meals that were extravagant and bountiful, even when they were only meant to serve two. Tonight was no exception, although Victor had come closer to scaling the meal down to a normal human appetite. 

Tonight’s meal was a roasted duck with apple sauce, the crisp skin spicy with cinnamon and star anise, alongside a bizarre purple salad, that Victor described unhelpfully as “herring in a fur coat.” Apparently, in Russia, salads were defined by the presence of mayonnaise rather than by the presence of greenery. Of course, Victor had anticipated this complaint and had made a large salad with a bright citrus vinaigrette and a bunch of charred green onions and avocado.

He had also, apparently, anticipated Yuri’s complaints about formality, and had graciously sacrificed a fancy table setting for sitting on the barstools at the kitchen counter. An Edith Piaf record played softly in the background, Makkachin was snoring, and the hum of the dryer from the back room gave the whole evening a feeling of peace and domesticity that Yuri was swept away on an intense wave of nostalgia.

”Do you want to come home with me?” The words were out of his mouth before he could think about it.”

”To Tokyo?”

”Sorry, no, I just -” Yuri stopped himself and gathered up the thoughts that had shaken loose in his mind. “I haven’t been home to see my family in, well, it’s been five years, actually.” He grimaced at Victor’s expression. “I know, I’m the _worst._ I mean, we talk and skype, and they’ve been out to see me in Tokyo, but it’s not the same.”

Victor still looked troubled. Maybe troubled wasn’t the right word. Serious would perhaps have been better.

”I know, it’s too soon, isn’t it? There’s no reason to rush. I wouldn’t be able to go until summer anyway. I don’t know why I said that.” He pushed a chunk of herring around his plate.

”I want to make sure I hear this right. You just asked me to come to your home and meet your family. Is that right?”

Yuri winced. “Yeah.” Yuri finally looked away from his near-empty plate. Victor looked stunned, and slowly, like the sun rising or a puppy yawning or something equally glorious and beautiful, like a unicorn galloping in slow motion, a blinding smile spreads across Victor’s face. It’s wide, and maybe a little bit goofy, and Yuri thought he had seen and cataloged all of Victor’s smiles, but this one is a new one.

”You really mean it, don’t you?”

”What?” It’s not a particularly rare occurrence, but Yuri genuinely has no idea what Victor might be talking about.

”All of it.” Victor waved his hand as if to encompass everything: Victor, Yuri, the meal, the night, the world. “You really love me, you actually want me to come to your home with you. All of that.” Yuri is baffled. Did Victor not believe him? Victor was still smiling at him. “Wow.”

”Of course I love you. I said it, didn’t I?”

”But you might have felt pressured because I said it.”

”I don’t know why a poorly planned invitation for a trip that can’t happen for at least another six months is the thing that convinces you.”

”I don’t either!” He stopped suddenly, finger to his lips in thought. “Nope, that’s wrong. I understand. It’s because you thought of your family, and then you thought of me.” It didn’t seem possible, but his smile grew even wider.

Yuri opened his mouth to say something, to deny it or apologize for being presumptuous or something, but nothing came out. It was true. Yuri was sitting here, in Victor’s home, and he said to himself, _huh, this feels like home,_ and then his next thought wasn’t _I miss home_ , it was _I want to show Victor my home._ That was a completely new thought for him. Yuri wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin. He’d had plenty of romantic partners, but no one that he had wanted to hold on to, no one he had been willing to work for, to work _with_. In the past, Yuri had run far and fast from the first whiff of conflict or plans for the future or of anything resembling “adult relationship talk.” Yuri’s eyes fill and he blinks away tears.

”Yuri? I’m - are you okay?” Victor touched his cheek, dragging his thumb through the moisture.

”Yeah. Yes, I mean, I’m good. I- I’m in love with you.” He felt his lips spread into a wide grin. “That’s ridiculous, I know I just told you ‘I love you,’ but I - I want to be with you, all the time. In my life, I mean.” Yuri suddenly realized how that would sound. “I don’t mean I want to move in, or something. I think we should start with lots of sleepovers and, like, a trip to the beach, or something but, maybe, someday?” 

”I would love that.” Victor smile had softened, but not dimmed. “Come here.” He stood and opened his arms. Yuri stepped into the embrace gratefully. Victor was just enough taller that he could rest his cheek against his shoulder. The record had reached its end, scratching a faint rhythm to which they swayed gently until the needle lifted, breaking the spell.

”So, what’s the rest of the traditional New Year’s Eve plan?” Yuri asked, looking up.

”Oh, well, that’s easy. First we find the dumbest movie possible on Netflix and pretend to watch it while we make out on the couch. By then, it will be time to wrestle a poodle into her thundershirt and eat dessert while we try to find a countdown in the right time zone. Then we somehow toast with sparkling grape juice and cuddle Makka until the fireworks stop.”

”Oh. That sounds perfect.” Thinking about home reminded him of something. “I did think of something I want to do, if you don’t mind.”

”Oh?”

”I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want to get up and watch the sun rise. With you.”

”Yuri! Perfect! We can go down by the river, and then we can eat breakfast in the Quarter!”

”Beignets?” Yuri’s cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much. “Then we can come back, and go back to bed, and maybe we can do some more of the stuff you like.”

Victor’s cheeks flamed a deep rose. “Oh, Yuri,” he purred, “you’re so kind, making such a noble sacrifice for me!”

Yuri laughed, “Shut up.”

”Truly, you are a martyr for boners everywhere, selflessly throwing yourself on the grenade of passion…”

”I don’t think that your metaphor makes much sense, Vitya.”

”I love you, Yusha.” Victor sighed happily.

”Yusha?”

”Would you like some coffee?”

”What?” Yuri had lost the thread of this conversation somewhere. “Coffee?”

”Now that you have said you love me and you can’t take it back, I am going to tell you all about Russian naming conventions. I only gave you the _Ivan Ilyich_ version, though. This will be, like, full _War and Peace_.”

”Am I going to finally understand why everyone in _Brothers Karamazov_ has, like, six names?”

”Almost definitely not!” Victor was already heading for the kitchen, filling the kettle. He paused, “Although, I can tell you of patronymics if you want for me to?”

”Maybe we should wait for the engagement for that.”

Victor dropped the kettle.

~~ 

 

”So, that’s why you asked me to call you Vitya, then?”

Victor’s eyes sparkled. “Yes.”

”All of your other friends still call you Victor.” Yuri pointed out.

Victor shrugged. “It’s too hard to explain it to everyone. Chris usually calls me Vitya, and almost everyone else is someone I met through work, so they are accustomed to calling me Victor and I’m accustomed to hearing it.”

”So if I called you Victor Yakovlevich Nikiforov?”

”I would think that you were very upset with me.”

”So your dad’s name is Yakov? You’ve never talked about your family.”

”Oh. Um, we aren’t close. We talk, but … Well, let’s just say that our relationship is better when I am halfway across the world.” Something that might be regret crossed Victor’s face. “Yakov was strict. High expectations, strong opinions about what I should do, how I should be. It wasn’t all his fault. Russia is different than here. He wanted me to be safe. Successful. I just wanted to be happy.”

”You call your dad Yakov?”

”Oh, I adopted Yakov.”

”You adop-”

Victor waved one of those graceful hands of his, dismissing Yuri’s interruption. “Technically, he adopted me. I didn’t give him much of a choice, though.” He stood abruptly and walked to the bedroom. He was back before Yuri could wonder what he was doing. “Here we are.” He handed Yuri a small framed photograph. VIctor had been a lanky teen: all arms and legs and long silvery hair. He was holding a guitar, wearing a suit that was visibly too short in the cuffs and giving the camera a toothy grin. Yuri had to assume the other person in the picture was Yakov. He was short, only barely taller than teenage Victor. A dark fedora was jammed over his forehead, shadowing a face that looked like it spent a lot of time scowling. In this picture, though, he was smiling proudly, hand on Victor’s shoulder.

”My parents died when I was small. I barely remember them. I lived with an aunt for a time. She had a boyfriend who played the violin in the Mariinsky Theater Orchestra. The was Yakov. I thought he was very cool.” Yuri looked again at the man in the photograph. _Cool_ wasn’t a word that sprang to mind, but he supposed that context was important. “He started to teach me to read music, to play the violin.”

“Do you still play?”

“Oh, sure, sometimes. It makes me think differently than the guitar, you see?” Yuri saw. It was why he had signed up for a pole dancing class, much to Phichit’s delight. “I play for you sometime. Anyway, I was a child, I don’t remember so much, but aunt and boyfriend broke up, and somehow I ended up going to live with Yakov. Probably, I just followed him and wouldn’t leave.” He smiled fondly at the thought. “I try not to think about it too much, but I miss him. Maybe -” He shook his head.

”Maybe what?”

”I was going to say maybe I should invite him here. But it’s silly.”

”It’s not silly to miss your family.”

”Enough about me, Yusha. Tell me about your family!”

~~ 

 

The fireworks started early. They were watching _Fargo_ , at Victor’s scandalized insistence when he learned that Yuri had never seen it. Yuri was planning to make him watch _Shall We Dance_ next. The Japanese version. Victor had only seen the J. Lo abomination. On Victor’s old CRT screen, Steve Buscemi was shooting an old man on top of a parking garage, and Yuri didn’t realize that the sounds weren’t coming from the speakers until Makkachin jumped onto the couch, shivering and trying to wedge her face into Victor’s armpit.

”Okay, girl, it’s okay,” he crooned, rubbing her ears. “Yusha, could you? It’s in the basket by the bed.”Makkachin’s anxiety vest was hot pink and embroidered with her name, because of course it was. After they had her wrapped comfortably in it, Victor left her on the couch with Yuri while he dished up dessert. At least, that’s what Yuri thought he was doing, until he returned with four little brown cubes on a pretty little saucer with a leaf of kale. He took a small brown bottle from his pocket and delicately dripped a little oil onto each piece. Yuri tried to make he voice sound stern and not absolutely delighted. “Vitya, is that what I think it is?”

”If you think it is duck jerky with a drizzle of canine CBD oil, you are right.”

”Oh my god. Let me see that.” Yuri grabbed the bottle from his hands and held the label up to the flickering light of the TV. Sure enough, it was exactly what Victor had said. Yuri drew some of the yellowish oil into the dropper and held it up to the light of the screen. Victor was busy baby-talking Makkachin, so he squirted the dropper into his mouth and immediately choked.

”Yushka?” Victor and Makkachin both looked at him in alarm, and Yuri would normally have laughed at their identical expressions of baffled horror.

He barely managed to set the bottle down on the coffee table and pointed at it accusingly, “Bacon! Why is it bacon?!” The flavor had coated the inside of his mouth, filling his nose with the smell of fake smoke. “Bleh.” He chugged the rest of his coffee, trying in vain to wash out the flavor.

”It’s for dogs, Yusha.”

”Yeah. Dogs lick their own buttholes, they don’t care what things taste like!”

Victor just gave him a very prim look.

”Okay, fine. I’m sorry I stole your dog remedy.”

Victor sniffed and looked pointedly a Makkachin.

”You’re kidding, right?” Victor shook his head and folded his arms. With a sigh, Yuri turned to the poodle. He held out his hand, and she plopped her paw into it. He leaned forward, “Makkachin Victorevich Nikiforov,” he said as formally as he could through the giggles and the lingering flavor of bacon, “I am very sorry. I stole your delicious bacon oil, and then I impugned your grooming habits. Can you ever forgive me?” She licked his face, then looked at Victor with a doggy smile.

”So, dessert? I made honey cake.”

~~ 

 

Yuri had pictured something like baklava, but honey cake turned out to be make of approximately a million (well, more like ten, but Yuri was feeling hyperbolic) layers of soft, spiced cake interspersed with a creamy filling. Victor had assured him that he had used a cashew yogurt instead of the traditional sour cream, and served it up with more coffee.

Despite the sugar and caffeine, Yuri had somehow come perilously close to dozing off with his head pillowed on Victor’s thighs, arms wrapped around Makkachin, before the end of the movie. He lifted his head and noticed the damp spot on Victor’s pants. Forget about “perilously close.” Yuri had apparently been sound asleep and _drooling_. A loud _sniff_ distracted him from his embarrassment. He shifted onto his back so he could see Victor.

”Are you crying?”

”What? No, of course not.” He was, though. Victor was too pale to hide his pink nose, and the light from the TV picked up the silver streaks of his tears. “I’ll have you know that I am very stoic and manly, and I definitely do not cry in movies about ballroom dancing.”

”It’s a good one, right?” Yuri asked. “The only reason I’m not crying is because I fell asleep. I guess I haven’t been sleeping well this week.”

”Mmm. I’m sorry about that,” he combed through Yuri’s hair with his fingers. It felt nice. Maybe he could grow his hair longer so Victor could play with it.

”What time is it?”

”It’s, oh crap. It’s 11:57.”

”Oh!” Yuri sat up. “Okay, um,” he straightened his glasses and pulled out his phone. “Er, try WGNO?”

”What station is that? I never use this thing!” He was punching buttons frantically on the remote.

”Uh...try 11?”

”Okay, okay -” Victor finally switched to the right channel. A Ryan Seacrest Type (™) was interviewing the mayor. “Ah! The champagne! I mean sparkling, you know!”

”Is it in the refrigerator?”

“Yes! The glasses are -” He gestured frantically while Makkachin glared at him through one open eye, irritated that Victor didn’t understand the value of a sedate lap. With a shake of her ears, she jumped down from the couch to finish off her kale leaf. “Hurry, Yusha!”

“Okay! Okay!” He grabbed the chilled bottle, and failing to find the champagne flutes, he slopped a generous splash into the first two mugs he could find. It fizzed onto the counter and made his fingers sticky, but he dashed back to the couch, mugs in hand, passing one to Victor just as Drew Brees started the countdown.

They chanted in unison, holding hands in excitement. ”Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Victor’s embrace made him slop the grape juice onto their laps, and he could feel the smile on Victor’s lips as they kissed.

“Here, _kanpai_!” Yuri clinked his mug against Victor’s. The sparkling grape juice wasn’t half bad. 

“Should we make a wish for the New Year?”

“Is that a Russian thing?”

“I have no idea. But _I_ always make a wish for the coming year.”

“Okay, I wish -”

“Yusha!” Victor gasped. “You can’t tell me! It won’t come true, if you tell! Don’t you know the rules of wishes?”

“Oh, of course. You’re right, Vitya.” 

“Okay. We have to close our eyes and think really hard.” He closed his eyes and Yuri followed suit.

Yuri didn’t have to think, even though it was the sort of wish that he never would have considered making before. _I wish to begin next year just like this,_ he thought. Then, because sometimes the gods of wishes were assholes who would take advantage if you weren’t specific enough, he clarified. _Next year, I want to be here. With Vitya. In love. With Vitya._

The fireworks reached a crescendo then and Makkachin clambered back onto their laps, licking at their faces as they kissed again and again.


End file.
